Shades of Grey
by Littlescribe
Summary: Starsky learns something about Hutch's future..


I came across some S&H fics written years ago, put up on a site which has long crashed. Have tidied them up a little and will submit. Would love any feedback, had forgotten how much I used to love writing these guys..

 **Shades of Grey**

Detective Sergeant David Starsky glared impatiently at the door. Pacing forward, he knocked upon it again, sliding one hand toward the brass handle. He turned the handle, expecting it to lock midway but instead the door sprang open. Starsky straightened in surprise, waited for a moment, then carefully peered inside.

"Vanessa?" he called into the unlit hallway, "You in here?"

The hall remained still and silent. The detective quietly eased his way inside and moved toward the small telephone bureau. He switched a lamp on and shifted to glance around the brightened room, his eyes sliding toward the darkened staircase.

 _No sign of life there._

Starsky turned his probing attention toward the closed kitchen door. He advanced toward it, caution in every step, one bruised hand automatically creeping toward his holster as the other pushed the door open. The detective scanned the kitchen, finally relaxing as his gaze fell upon the lady of the house. Vanessa Hutchinson was curled in a large chair at the far end of the kitchen, the patio doors open in front of her. She was engrossed in a glossy magazine, her head nodding in beat with the music thumping from a small set of headphones.

 _All those years of education_ , Starsky marvelled as he watched her fingers fumble with the radio dial, _and she sits in a house with the doors wide open at this time of night._

Crossing the kitchen, he stooped beside the chair and tugged on her sweatshirt. "Hey."

The woman jumped instinctively, the magazine sliding from her lap as her startled eyes flew to his face. "David." Vanessa tore the headphones off and glared at him, "What the hell are you doing creeping around the house?"

Starsky smiled tightly, momentarily tempted to explain the thousand horrors that could have walked through her front door tonight. Instead, he contented himself with an unrepentant shrug, "I tried knocking. You didn't answer so I came on in."

"Well, it's generally considered polite to…" Vanessa's voice trailed into sudden silence and she shifted her gaze past him, toward the empty kitchen. "Where's Ken?" Slow dread darkened her slender face and she returned her pleading attention to him, "Dave, where is he?"

"In hospital," Starsky answered gently. He slipped a hand over hers, watching panic rise in her eyes, "He'll be fine, Van," he told her calmly, "Just fine. They're just keeping him overnight."

She took a breath, fear sharpening her voice. "What happened?"

The detective racked his brain for the calm explanation he had practised in the Torino. "Well," he began slowly, "It all happened real quick. Me and Hutch got a call to a jewellery heist and we were chasing down some guys when two of 'em rounded back on Hutch." Starsky paused, anger flaring as he remembered hauling the two goons off his battered partner. He smothered it quickly, reminding himself of the purpose of his visit.

 _Just make sure Van is all right and get back to the station and write the reports,_ he told himself, suppressing the cold fury that had enveloped him in the filthy alleyway hours earlier, _Write them so tight that those sorry mothers won't have room to breathe in the courtroom._

Anger subdued by that thought, Starsky lifted his head and finished calmly, "They knocked him about a little bit and gave him a touch of concussion. The doctors just want to keep him overnight to be safe."

He watched her closely, aware of Vanessa's silent scrutiny. Her eyes wandered over his face searching the detective guessed, for the barest hint of deception. Hutch was determined to shield his wife from the most dangerous aspects of their work and Starsky had often helped him find some innocuous explanation for the injuries they picked up watching over the streets. For all of their efforts, Starsky knew they couldn't fool Vanessa Hutchinson. Hutch's wife was an intelligent and perceptive woman, one who saw right through their double act. She didn't press them on hastily produced excuses about rough basketball games or some goon with a lucky punch but her eyes often lingered on her husband, watching him as he moved about her, healthy and strong. A little later her hand would find Hutch's, squeezing it gently for a heartbeat, then slipping away, just as quickly.

Her gaze drifted to his bruised hands, her eyes moving back to meet his own. "You're not holding anything back, David?"

Starsky maintained a steady gaze. "Not a thing."

Vanessa nodded curtly and leaned her head against the headrest. Relief softened her features and taking a breath, she moved from the chair, uncurling her limber frame effortlessly.

"I'll drive down to the hospital."

The detective rose with her and raised a restraining hand. "He's sound asleep. They'll be waking him every couple of hours so we're probably better off letting him getting some rest while he can."

She looked away, her eyes growing suspiciously damp, "Right."

Starsky frowned and reached for her. "Hey, I mean it. He's going to be fine. He'll be back to himself tomorrow."

Bitterness twisted her immaculately glossed lips. "Of course he will." She lifted knowing eyes to him, "Of course he will."

"Vanessa…"

"Don't mind me," Conjuring up a breezy smile, Vanessa waved a hand toward the kitchen, "I made an effort at cooking if you want to join me. It's Ken's favourite."

* * *

Starsky looked up in surprise. He and Vanessa shared a strange alliance, bonded only by their mutual caring for one Ken Hutchinson. Without Hutch, all that remained was the undeniable understanding that David Starsky and Vanessa Hutchinson were about as different as two people could be. They tended to spend as little time in one another's company as possible.

They had first met, years earlier, about a month before he and Hutch graduated from the academy. Vanessa had finally moved back from New York to plan their wedding. Hutch insisted that his fiancée meet his buddy and Vanessa duly arranged a meal in a fancy uptown restaurant. She walked in that night and owned the place, knowing it with every step. Struck by her beauty and slightly dazzled by her smile, Starsky had nonetheless watched her carefully; keen to know the woman his closest friend planned to marry. Vanessa proved herself to be smart and funny and Hutch sure seemed like he was in love with her. She loved him back just as much, Starsky knew with immediate satisfaction. She and Hutch would catch each other's gaze, share a half smile now and again, and lean into one another, electricity rippling between them. Vanessa wasn't his kind of girl, Starsky decided by the time their desserts came around, but she was able to light Hutch up from the inside out and that was good enough for him. All the same, that very first night, he had spied the storm brewing in Vanessa's eyes, the storm that had raged incessantly ever since.

It raged in her fights with Hutch, endless rows where they flung the most terrible things at one another. Starsky had witnessed their bitter exchanges more times than he could count. His partner was no angel, he could lose his temper with the best of them but Hutch's temper was as honest as himself and he would shout his anger all the way out, fury dying with it. Mrs Vanessa Hutchinson was a whole other package. She was like a polished viper, Starsky decided, the detective long chilled by her control over her own cold anger. She could make her husband mad as hell and she could hurt him like nobody else in the whole world. Their rows left Hutch drained and the man would invariably slump into the Torino, his mind distant, his answers short.

If it were a real big row, Hutch would throw himself into work with an unmatched vigour and would vent his frustration by running in every unfortunate hoodlum he came across. A few days later, he and Van would patch things up, the storm abated for a while and signs of their quiet intimacy re-appeared.

All the while, Starsky waited for the next blow out.

"Sure," Realising she was waiting for his response, Starsky found a polite smile, "Dinner sounds great."

They ate together than called the hospital. The night nurse reported that Detective Hutchinson was doing well and that apart from his choice language during their hourly checks, there was nothing unusual to report.

Vanessa smothered a smile at hearing that and hung up, quickly filling Starsky in on his partner's progress. She lifted her glass of wine and indicated toward the patio, "Want to go outside?"

Starsky glanced at his watch and decided that it was too late to contemplate report writing. Resigning himself to an early morning start, he nodded and followed her into the warm night air. He settled himself on a lounge chair and stretched his legs out, his eyes enviously scanning the ocean.

 _Trust Hutch to have a view like this._

"It's real nice out here" he commented, watching a seagull circle aimlessly overhead.

She fixed a gaze on the ocean. "I like it."

Memory tugged and Starsky looked sideways, admonishment sparking in his eyes. "By the way, it's not smart to leave the door unlocked when you're in the house by yourself. I could have been anyone tonight. Hutch wouldn't like it."

A half smile appeared on her face. "I knew you'd have something to say about that." She sipped on her wine and glanced at him, rebuke ringing lightly in her voice. "It must be tough, seeing things the way you do. Always looking for shadows everywhere, seeing bad guys in every corner. You and Ken, you're both the same that way."

"Most cops are," Starsky told her dryly, "Comes with seeing what happens when people don't keep their doors locked."

Vanessa shot a curious look at him. "Don't you sometimes wish you didn't know?" she asked earnestly, "Don't you wish you didn't have to worry about who killed who and why they did it?"

"Walk around like everything's rosy?" Starsky shook his head, a glimmer of a smile appearing on his face, "That's not living, at least not to me. Doing what we do makes me feel like I'm alive, like I'm making a difference."

Her face creased in a frown. "To who? To people you don't know, people you don't meet, people you don't owe anything to?"

Long used to dealing with genuine confusion about the draw of the streets, Starsky sloped a patient look sideways. "It's not always about the victims," he explained, "But it is always about the perps. We get to know them real well, get to know every sick and twisted part of their minds," Vehemence deepened his voice, conviction deep within him. "I know that when we lift them off the streets, me and Hutch are making a difference."

"At a cost," Vanessa argued, her expression filling with intent. She shifted around so that she was facing him, strands of dark hair slipping around her pretty face, "Think about it David. You're not married; you don't have kids or a steady girlfriend. You're in a job that doesn't pay enough for what it demands and you're faced with the prospect of real injury or death every other day."

"Hey," Starsky raised his hands in mock defence, stemming the flow of disparaging remarks about his livelihood. "It's not all bad. Besides, at the end of the day it's a job, it's not all of me."

Disbelief hinged on her face. "Are you kidding me? David, you _are_ your job." She tipped her glass toward him, certainty springing to her face, "Remember the party we had here at Christmas?" Accusation tinged her voice, "You two hardly spoke to anyone you didn't know. Once you two found out some of my colleagues were contracted out to Monroe Enterprises, you may as well have arrested them. You practically glowered with suspicion."

"Robert Monroe is as shady as a guy can get and the whole world knows it," Starsky answered, his tone dry and unapologetic, "As far as I am concerned anyone who works for him is helping keep him afloat."

"They work for him in his accounts departments David," Vanessa snapped in annoyance, "They don't kill anyone or hurt people."

"No, they just jimmy about the figures to square all the cash he gets from the heists at the docks," Starsky stared at her, an unyielding truth in his voice, "The heists that do hurt people. Honest, innocent, hardworking people. Your pals' fancy paperwork helps him to do it and Hutch and I aren't comfortable eating cocktail sausages with them."

"Oh honestly, Dave…"

"You want honesty?" Wine and the memory of his partner's discomfort at the party made Starsky a little reckless and he turned a relentless expression to her, "Fact of the matter is they shouldn't have been invited into Hutch's house in the first place."

Vanessa digested the reprimand and the audible disgust in his voice. She tilted her head and eyed him squarely. "Do you really believe I'd do anything to put Ken's career in jeopardy? If I honestly thought those people were laundering money, I'd never allow them anywhere near either of you."

His anger passed, lulled by the waves. "I know that, Vanessa and I know those accountants weren't doing anything they couldn't talk their way out of." His gaze lingered on her, his voice low with warning, "But you know if Hutch and I found out anything different, them being your friends wouldn't make any difference."

"I've learned the hard way how the job makes decisions for both of you." Vanessa turned her face back to the ocean, her jaw tensing, "That night, it was like a light bulb went off over my head, seeing you two in a roomful of strangers. You couldn't leave the job at the station, both of you, so watchful and careful." She shook her head in half disgust, "You're polite and friendly but you're distrustful until people prove you shouldn't be." Vanessa surveyed him silently, sadly. "You've changed David." She turned away, her voice pitched at a whisper, "You both have."

"I guess we have," the detective agreed, remembering the naive men who had tumbled out of the academy a few years earlier. "I guess we had to."

"You mean you chose to." Bitterness enveloped her voice, "You go out there every day and you choose it. Together." She sipped on her wine, her eyes smouldering with old resentments, "You know there really are some people I work with that I can't introduce to either of you?" Vanessa flung an accusatory glance toward her companion. "They're not bad people David. They just cut a few corners here and there to make life a little easier for themselves. That's all."

Wondering just when Mrs Kenneth Hutchinson began justifying criminal lifestyles to herself; Starsky answered dryly, "I'm guessing those corners make life a little harder for some other people."

Vanessa laughed shortly, her eyes creasing with displeasure. "That's what I'm talking about. You see everything in black and white. No such things as shades of grey in your life."

The detective sat mutely, allowing the heat of her anger to fade into the night. "There are shades of grey all right but some of them have lines around them." The detective looked at her meaningfully, "Lines me and Hutch won't cross. So maybe you _are_ better off leaving those kinds of people at the office."

"See what I mean?" Vanessa said softly, "You're not the man I met years ago."

Starsky eyed her carefully. "It's not as bad as you're making it out to be, Van. Sure maybe we've had to wise up, maybe we're more careful about the people around us but some cops _are_ happy, you know. They have wives and families. Hutch has you."

"Hutch shares me," Vanessa turned to him, her eyes filled with sad resignation. "He shares me with you and that damn job he loves so much."

Starsky shook his head in wonder, "How can you think that? He loves you."

"He did," Vanessa answered with a small smile, "Once he loved me so passionately and so completely that he couldn't bear to be away from me. I loved him just as much." Wisdom shadowed her face, "I don't measure up anymore. Ken sees the cracks now. Just like you do. He sees the work that I do and the people and the lifestyle that I like and it doesn't measure up. I just don't care about people the way he does, I can live with all the things that are wrong in the world and I don't have to change them."

Starsky shifted uneasily.

 _I think I prefer it when we're just polite to one another_ , he mused as he lowered his glass, _I'm not sure I like where this is going._

"He's a cop," the detective said, returning to familiar ground, "It's his job."

"I never wanted him to join the force," she answered quietly, "God knows I tried to talk him out of it but if I had known then how much he'd change, how much of us he would give up for the streets…"

"Hutch hasn't changed," Starsky defended his absent partner, "Not all that much."

She fixed a gaze of sudden clarity upon him. "Not to you," she agreed, "Never to you." She smiled painfully, her voice surprisingly free from bitterness, "You understand him better than I ever could. He doesn't have to explain himself to you. Sometimes I think the only reason he stays with me is because he finds everything I lack in you. All that understanding and caring and heart…"

"That's crap and you know it," Starsky interrupted bluntly. "Maybe you two go through your rough patches now and again but he loves you."

"In his own way, I think he still does." Vanessa stared out ahead, "I guess I'm just tired of seeing that spark die in his eyes, a little more every day." Her eyes remained fixed on the ocean. "I'm leaving him."

Beside her, Starsky froze, her words howling through his mind. He was suddenly aware of everything around him, her scent lingering on the night air, his fingers wrapped around the chilled glass of wine, the awful recognition of the resolve in her voice.

"What?"

"You heard me."

Starsky lifted himself and swung his legs over the side of the side of the chair, one hand snapping around her wrist. "What do you mean you're leaving him?" he demanded savagely.

"You heard me," Vanessa shouted back, tears springing to her eyes, "It's not enough. Sitting here night after night waiting to see if he's dead or alive, knowing that even if he does come home, his heart's not in me, my heart's not in us, it's not enough." She tore her wrist from his grasp, "You try living day after day in an empty house. Even when he's here, its empty."

"And it's his fault?" Incredulity furrowed his brow, "This is all down to him? How about listening to him when he comes home? How about not tearing into him about his crappy pay the day he has to tell some mother her kid is dead? How about being there for him instead pushing him away all the time?" Fervency drove his voice, "I know it's hard Van but you don't give up, you work at it. You make it work."

Vanessa flinched beneath his searing contempt "I can't." she choked out finally, "I can't anymore. I used to be everything to him. I can't be anything less. I hate him for changing and then I love him for it and I just can't do it anymore. I can't go on tearing him up like this."

Starsky stared at her in silent loathing, hating her confession, hating himself for listening to it, for allowing her ugly words to crawl into his brain. They were stamped there, imprinted upon him, along with the horrible imaginings of how his best friend would manage hearing them.

"You can't do this to him." Starsky shook his head in disbelief, "You can't."

"We're done," she told him, "David, we're done."

"So what was this about, huh?" Starsky asked angrily as he raised his wine glass, "One big game? Have me prepared to catch him when he falls? A sardonic smile twisted his lips, "I got to hand it to you Van, you really are a smart lady."

She stared at him, venom springing to her gaze. "I was supposed to be his only partner." The words died on her lips, her expression brittle with emotion. "Just me."

Silence fell upon them and they stared at one another, each bewitched by the other essential figure in Ken Hutchinson's life. Starsky gazed at her, finally understanding the complex being that was Vanessa Hutchinson. He knew she still loved Hutch, he could see it in her face, hear it in her trembling voice.

 _She just can't bear to share him_ , the detective thought slowly, _she can't stand the fact that she isn't the only burning, consuming passion in his life_. _She sees her weaknesses every day in her life with him, her selfishness, greed, her damn materialism, she doesn't want to face it, any of it. All the things she loved about Hutch are pushing her away, one by one._

Starsky found his voice, "You'll never find better than him."

Vanessa nodded, tears spilling down her cheeks, honesty shining in her eyes, "I know that. God, I know that." She wiped her face with the back of her hand, "I can't change who I am, David, any more than he can and we can't keep hurting each other this way." She gazed at him, "If I stay, I'll destroy him anyway."

 _She's right_ , a voice whispered in the back of his mind, _She knows what she is and maybe this is the kindest thing she can do for him. Maybe it's the only thing she can do for him._

Starsky nodded shortly and pulled himself to his feet. "You gotta do what you gotta do." He looked down at her. "You tell him out straight Van. He deserves to hear it out straight."

Vanessa smoothed her hands over her face. "He'll be home tomorrow. We'll talk then." She rose as the detective moved toward the house, "David?"

Starsky hesitated and turned, his face closed and unreadable. Vanessa Hutchinson had got all she'd ever get from David Starsky. "Yeah?"

"You'll take care of him?"

Standing there in the half darkness, her eyes filled with hope, she reminded Starsky of the laughing young woman he had met years before in an overpriced restaurant. The woman that had loved Ken Hutchinson with her eyes, her smile and her heart.

"Always." He eyed her for a moment, then turned and walked out of her life.

* * *

"Detective."

The nurse hurried from behind the night station and paced after the newcomer, "Detective, it's late and your partner's asleep. The hourly checks are over now and we want him to rest now. I really don't think that…"

"Relax," Starsky squinted at the nametag attached to her uniform, "Suzie. I'm not going to disturb him and I'll be gone before you wake him up in the morning. He'll never even know I was here. I just want to sit with him a while."

She looked up dubiously. "I don't know…"

The detective heaved a troubled breath. "Listen, my partner's had a real rough day and so have I Suzie. To be honest some things are going on behind the scenes that I'm not free to speak about."

Mystery deepened her expression. "Police work?"

"Yeah," Starsky lied easily. "You'll understand if I don't explain further but trust me…" His gaze slid toward the door of Hutch's room, "My partner needs someone to watch over him tonight."

Suzie winked in conspiratorial understanding and slipped past him to open the door. "You just call me if you need anything Detective," she said importantly.

Starsky nodded in gratitude and eased past the slender nurse, his eyes quickly falling upon his sleeping partner. He stood in momentary stillness, a hundred thoughts hurtling through his brain.

 _How are you going to take this buddy? How the hell are you going to get through it? You gonna hate her, hate me because of her? Hell, you might want to quit the job altogether._

He inwardly hushed the babbling concerns that raced around his mind, concentrating on a calm inner voice he had learned to trust long ago.

 _You can't fix it. You just gotta be here for him._ _Every step of the way._

"You sure you really need to be here, Detective?" Suzie asked from behind, "We've got our own security if that's what you worried about and it's going to be a long night."

"Thanks Suzie," Starsky answered, "But I really do need to be here."

Starsky waited for her to leave, then eased the door closed behind him. He moved noiselessly across the room, setting a chair beside Hutch's bed. Easing himself onto it, Starsky settled himself back and began the task of watching over his partner.

 **The End**


End file.
